


A Broken Perspective

by unforciablecure



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, Cheating, F/F, Maggie Sawyer Backstory, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-07
Updated: 2017-04-07
Packaged: 2018-10-16 03:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10562880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unforciablecure/pseuds/unforciablecure
Summary: It's not supposed to happen like this, it's not. She was in a relationship, had been for the last five years, yet it's unsettling how willingly Maggie finds herself in the situation she steps into.It begins with a horrible unsettling pang of selfishness that springs and expands, taking on a life of its own as it twists around her heart, because things aretooeasy,toohappy and Maggie doesn't do easyorhappy.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [policejacketsawyer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/policejacketsawyer/gifts).



It's not supposed to happen like this, it's not.

She was in a relationship, had been for the last five years, yet it's unsettling how willingly Maggie finds herself in the situation she steps into. 

It begins with a horrible unsettling pang of selfishness that springs and expands, taking on a life of its own as it twists around her heart, because things are _too_ easy, _too_ happy and Maggie doesn't do easy _or_ happy. It's a fact that’s written clearly in black and white even through the blur, through the light buzz created by multiple mouthfuls of scotch, washed down against the backdrop of a week long murder case mixed in with sporadic bursts of sleep.

Emily is patient and has a kind smile but most of all she _gets_ Maggie and understands her dedication to her job and how that sometimes may mean that their relationship gets put on the back burner yet it doesn’t make her love Maggie any less.

Emily doesn't pressure Maggie when thoughts tug at her to do the very thing, possessing the ability to recognise that the dark circles and lines under her girlfriend's eyes are traits from someone who is a little work obsessed. She admires the little things because even though Maggie has just finished a week long night-shift, she still holds the ability to crack a genuine smile, all dimples, snarking a comment about cops and their girls.

Emily makes Maggie breakfast, leaves her post-it notes on the rare days when she's up for work earlier than she is and it would be annoying if the curved and wavy handwriting of the messages wasn't so devastatingly cute.

Emily deserves more, deserves more than _this._

Emily thinks Maggie is working late.

Maggie's voice informs her of the change, ever confident as she cranes the cell against her ear as she exits the precinct, making a swift left for a bar that’s four blocks away. It’s not Maggie’s local, not by a long shot, but she’s been to the bar before and there’s always a calming atmosphere to be found with classic rock playing faintly in the background.

The place is vacant except from a couple of bearded guys sitting in the corner, griping about losing a poker match and a couple playing pool.

Maggie slumps down onto a stool, flagging down a glass of scotch within a minute of entering and pays with the loose change she fishes out a pocket of her leather jacket.

There’s a rustic feel to the bar and as she leans across the bar, her eyes scoot around. They dart across the faux-rusted framed pictures, over the ones coated with a genuine layer of dust, until Maggie feels her shoulders loosen and relax.

She isn’t quite sure why she lied to Emily, why she didn’t confess that she was going for a drink after work because it’s now after six and Emily had been waiting for her to get home with a dinner that had been prepared for two.

The scotch arrives and Maggie sits reflective and sombre as she sips her first mouthful. She imagines Emily sitting alone at the table in their apartment and she suddenly stiffens. She doesn’t like to think about the guilt that’s mixed in with the scotch because it’s a bitter cocktail she’s never liked the taste of.

They’ve been together long enough for Maggie to admit that she's crossed a line she’s never walked close to before and that in itself is enough to jolt her with a rush of uneasiness and a twinge of doubt. She's still young, pushing twenty-four, and a lifetime has slid by in barely a blink of an eye. There has been both good and bad times - mostly bad - but the past is the past and Maggie doesn't like peering down into that stream because there's only pain and insecurity to be found, and she knows that beneath the multiple layers of the thick skin she's weaved upon herself, there's still that same lost fourteen year old kid.

Maggie blinks at the hesitation because now - five years down the line - there wasn’t supposed to _be_ any hesitation. Maybe in the first year but now; _now_ hesitation was presumably a preamble. It wasn’t supposed to exist _five_ years later.

Maggie lies to herself as she takes another drink. She's _happy_. She's _meant_ to be happy.

So why isn't she happy?

She's lost somewhere between numbness and complacency, and in the middle of everything she has Emily; Emily who is patience and understanding on the days when Maggie deserves much the opposite, much like a day like today. She's a horrible person who lied to the woman she supposedly loves and so _easily_ , too. There was no hesitation, no fumbling words, just an adaptive ease that shouldn't have been as uncomplicated as it was to tap into.

Maggie grasps her glass of scotch, downing the remainder in a speed which is far, far too fast and she chokes out a cough as her throat burns with an afterglow of warmth.

Her voice is hoarse as she asks for another and the server nods, his expression flickering with something which resembles sympathy as his gaze catches sight of Maggie's glock and badge connected to her waist. She looks young for a detective, _too_ young.

The bar starts to get populated as an hour passes by, the music in the background only fading as distant chatter brews louder and Maggie suddenly feels very alone. She’s finishing her third scotch, Maggie's thirst for the drink replacing the initial twinge of hunger she had felt when leaving the precinct, and is now more relaxed. Her mood remains low as she sits, arms folded and leaning across the top of the bar, her leather jacket finding place on the stool she situates herself on. Her forehead is creased, her expression a mix of a frown and neutrality.

Maggie lets the noise of the room wash over her, massages her temples as she allows herself to switch off, _Bad Moon Rising_ playing faintly in the background.

'Can I get a beer? Actually no, scratch that. Make it a gin. _Double_. On the rocks'

The voice disturbs Maggie's meditation and she turns with annoyance to her left, only for her expression to fall on impact at the figure that meets her gaze.

She's tall, wearing a loose fitting blazer over jeans that look like they've been sprayed on. Maggie loses concentration for a split second as she takes in the long raven hair, the blue eyes and piercing cheekbones before she shifts her gaze back to the bar.

The woman slides down onto the stool, one-up on her left as Maggie swallows another mouthful of scotch. She swears she can feel the woman's gaze on her as she finishes her drink and it makes her tingle with a glow of warmth she knows she's not supposed to like.

In her momentary stupor, Maggie muses that it's her own personal drinking game because she's just stumbled upon a woman - someone who is very much _not_ Emily - who she wouldn't mind taking home. She shuts down the thought in her mind and gets up to use the bathroom.

When she returns, there's a fresh glass of scotch waiting at her place at the bar and Maggie’s gaze falls on the woman.

'Take it. It's the least I could do'

The words capture her off guard and Maggie gives her a funny look as she drops down onto the stool.

They don't _know_ each other, had never laid eyes on one another before- Maggie would remember. Had she been mistaken for someone else?

The woman smiles, knowingly, revealing a small right dimple in the process. Maggie pretends not to notice how well it frames her face.

'My bag was stolen the other day and your station was very helpful to me in getting it back'

That didn't exactly explain how she-

'I saw your badge' she adds with a smirk.

Maggie weighs up the pros and cons of accepting a charitable drink as the woman continues.

'It's the least I could do to show my gratitude to the N.C.P.D'

Maggie hesitates, eyes gravitating towards the free drink. She bites her cheek as she tells the woman, drily, that they have a donations tin back at the precinct and she was more than welcome to use it.

The woman laughs, soft.

'You cops and your sense of humour. This city never ceases to amaze me. Always makes for a fun trip'

Maggie's fingers dance around the glass. She's not taken a sip yet, deciding that it would be too much of a commitment but finds her voice gets the better of her.

'Where you from?' Maggie asks, curious, fingers circling the glass.

'Metropolis'

A pause.

'A _tourist_ ' Maggie adds, with amusement. She takes pity on the stranger for washing up in such a crumby bar, lost in an alien city - _with_ aliens - and she accepts the gifted scotch by raising the glass.

A silence momentarily falls between them as they drink before Maggie's curiosity gets the better of her and she angles around, mouthing a mumbled _thanks_.

The uttered thank you kick-starts a conversation and Maggie uncovers that the stranger is an Amy and that she's in town on business.

As she continues the quiet and stilled murmur of conversation, she’s not too unaware to notice the way Amy's eyes rake across her. To Maggie’s surprise, she's not intimidated by the badge _or_ the glock, she's _curious_.

It's been a long time since Maggie played the _cop_ card but it's always been one that's never failed her and the flirtation that springs between them is both comfortable and instantaneous. Maggie feels it flicker across her skin and she grows warm beneath the collar of her dark shirt, shooting down across her dark jeans, the glow snaking low until it settles across the remainder of her body.

When Amy excuses herself to use the bathroom, Maggie pulls out her phone and texts Emily. She tells her that she's been pulled into running late night errands and that she shouldn't wait up for her. Within a minute, Emily replies back and tells Maggie not to work too hard and that she loves her.

Maggie hesitates with a reply, the words a piercing burn on her mind as she feels her fingers hover. She types out a quick reply - _too_ quickly - before she thinks better of it and deletes the message. Her fingers hover again as she struggles to think of what to say, the notion eventually ceasing as Amy appears at her side and replying suddenly feels like her last thought. Maggie hides her phone in her jacket pocket. _Out of sight_ , _out of mind_.

Amy drops into the stool on Maggie's left, resuming the flirtation that's fallen between them with ease, doubling equally with interest.

As the minutes turn to an hour, and the glasses turn to doubles, Maggie ends up back at Amy's hotel two blocks away.

She knows it's a mistake, knows it's going to be a horrible black burn in her memory like a stain in a t-shirt she'll never be able to wash out but she feels awake, more alive than she's felt in the past two years, and maybe she's a little tipsy too.

Maggie finds herself pressed against Amy, a hand skimming up and down her side in a hypnotic motion as they make out against the brown tarnished wood of the hotel room door.

It feels so different to kiss someone who isn't Emily. Amy is rough and persistent where Emily is soft and slow, yet Maggie thinks she likes the change. They do a slow dance around, free one another from jacket layers, heavy scotch and gin stained kisses being the continuation in between.

Maggie finds herself on her back against fresh white linen that smells of apples on a king-sized bed as Amy takes a step back, eyes scanning down towards Maggie's gun and badge clipped on her waist.

Amy let's out a low, soft laugh as Maggie catches up, removing her weapon and holster before she tosses them to the floor. There's nothing heavy or serious lacing the laugh, just lightness and teasing, and the momentary pause is far from a mood killer. Maggie struggles to remember if Emily ever laughed like that.

_Emily_ , who is her girlfriend.

_Emily_ , who is sitting at home while Maggie watches another woman, a complete stranger, take her clothes off.

Maggie helps to free her, enthusiastic and impatient as she unbuttons and tugs off her own shirt, followed up by her pants, before every other layer.

The sex is rough; a rush of adrenaline and neck bites, and Maggie can’t remember the last time she did the whole one-night stand thing but she sure hasn't tired of its charged thrill. Her veins perpetuate with a warmth and a glow that filters down and around her body like it's a natural instinct, something she needs to _breathe_ , which given the situation is a skewed realisation because Maggie's perspective is broken.

It's good sex, Amy works her fingers, pushes, twists, licks and Maggie absorbs it all, glows with a heat under her skin that feels different because in all honestly she can't remember the last time she had an orgasm that hard, one that leaves her drained but wanting more, _so_ much more.

Amy takes her again, burying her tongue in the crux of her centre and Maggie feels her skin coat with a thin sheen of sweat, heart hammering in her chest in a way that’s almost painful and too much. She can't remember ever feeling this exhilarated with Emily - maybe in the early days but not now when their relationship had been reduced to a mundane marriage (minus the _marriage_ part) and it hits her hard as she comes for the second time. The bliss that follows shines and blinds, and it's minutes before Maggie realises where she is and what she's done.

There was a bar and a beautiful stranger and the offering of a free drink - which naturally spilled over into more - and now, two hours later - she's lying in a post-sex haze by said beautiful stranger who the only thing she really knows about is her name. Maggie’s sceptic cop instinct isn't sure if she believes that the woman kissing up her thighs is an _Amy_. The name rings off with innocence and what they've both just partaken in is _far_ from innocent and she loses count of how long they get caught up in discovering foreign bodies.

Maybe that's what makes her actions worse, Maggie wonders with tired, wide eyes at the ceiling when things slow between them, after her fingers are coated in someone who is very much _not_ her girlfriend, that she’s slept with a complete stranger and not a friend. It's self-sabotage to the finest point; one of the darker traits to her personality because Maggie has lost count of things she has undermined through the years.

She remembers her teenage naivety at believing she ever had a chance with her high school best friend and how she had posted away that friendship - quite _literally_ \- in the form of a Valentine’s Day card, one which had simultaneously destroyed her relationship with her parents.

Maggie had then been gifted a surrogate parent in the form of an aunt and had moved around a lot so the so-called " _healing process_ " had transpired as a slow one. There had been girlfriends through what she deems the _zero years_ , mostly short flings, but then she had met Emily and Maggie realised that things could grow, that she _was_ capable of withstanding a relationship that could withstand more than a few months.

They met when Maggie was nineteen and a rookie cop with serious eyes which shone a higher goal. Emily was studying architecture at the city university and was carrying around a portfolio case that was double the size it should have been for transporting around campus. They almost seemed too different at first, too contrasting, but those differences only seemed to pull them towards each other. Maggie moved in with Emily eight months into dating, trading up her one-bedroom rent for a small apartment which she grew to call home and weeks turned into months and months grew into years.

It surprises Maggie that she had even reached this point, five years of nothing but growth, to tear their relationship apart piece by piece - and _so_ easily - by one selfish and stupid response to a simple and uncomplicated life - the one she's _supposed_ to be enjoying.

The roots of insecurity, of shame, explode within her and a shower of coldness scrapes across her skin at the full realisation of what she's done, of _where_ she is, and for a split second all heat cools within her body. The expensive linen her body is wrapped up in only seems to add weight to how truly cheap she feels.

Maggie is lying next to a stranger in said stranger's hotel room while her girlfriend - her  _long term_ girlfriend - waits for her to come home and she _hates_ herself more than she ever has.

The walk of shame transpires half an hour later as Maggie vacates the hotel with much less integrity than she held within herself just a few hours earlier, her clothes feeling creased and scratchy over skin that's been touched and marked by someone else.

When Maggie gets back to the apartment, Emily has left a light on and is lying half awake in their bedroom.

Even in the dark, Emily greets her with a loving smile, one that's tinged with tiredness, and it takes Maggie a whole minute and a half to numb out the sound of her conscience screaming at her to confess. She doesn't deserve this, doesn't deserve Emily. The temptation to admit that very statement freezes and lodges in the back of her throat and Maggie stammers with hesitation as she shrugs off her leather jacket, struggling to filter her unvoiced words.

Emily sits up and asks her what's wrong and Maggie closes her eyes, remembers to _breathe_ and tells her that work was relentless. She murmurs on about a bad case that she invents on the spot, smiling vacantly at her girlfriend who is unaware, so _blissfully_ unaware, hoping that Emily can't smell the scotch and lies from six steps across the floor.

Maggie moves into the bathroom as Emily whispers for her to come to bed, her voice somehow a painful touch to a bruise Maggie has inflicted on their relationship but she knows that Emily is going to feel the wound in a much deeper way than a bruise can ever come close to.

Maggie showers, brushes her teeth, tries to forget. The smell of scotch no longer lingers in her breath but something else does.

_Guilt_.

 

* * *

 

It eats away at her for days.

She's distant with Emily, silently brews them a coffee pot with distracted murmurs of hums and a mindless conversation she loses track of far too easily.

Emily, for the most part, is unaware. She's grown to accept that sometimes Maggie isn't much of a talker, that she keeps her cards guarded and close to her chest, but they've been together for five years and although Maggie has opened up, there's still a couple of bricks still intact of the wall she's helped knock down.

They have sex for the first time in a month but it's not the same.

Maggie feels dirty after it, unclean in a way which a shower and all the soap in the world just won't cleanse from her skin (she's tried). It's only then when it becomes apparent that the real " _dirt_ " wasn't something tangible, that was as simple to just _wash off_ , and _god_ , how Maggie wishes it was. The dirt was invisible, a dark layer in her soul, unseen to everyone except herself.

She's lying to Emily, to someone she supposedly loves - _used_ to love - and Maggie has no idea how it ever reached this point, how she became _this_ person. She cheated on her girlfriend - her _long-term_ girlfriend - and now she wants to run away. Maggie hates her limited options but it doesn’t come close to how much she hates herself.

At first, she tries denying her feelings.

Maggie drinks them away with glasses of spirits and distractions of cold cases at work but as the weeks pass by, the truth of it all grows deeply suffocating and unsettling and she realises there is only one thing she can do.

Emily deserves the truth.

 

* * *

 

'I slept with someone'

The words trickle out and as much as Maggie wants to reach out and claw the words back, she can't. She watches as Emily's vacant look blends with shock and hurt then to disappointment before settling on a fiery anger, all in a way that makes Maggie filter with increased guilt and self-hate, _so_ much self-hate.

Emily had been talking animatedly about work, about her mom and how she had invited them back to her hometown for Fall but all happy thoughts turn dark to a holiday she knows is never going to happen. It was light, happy chatter and Maggie ruined it all; setting alight the happiness with a striking match of four bruising words.

Emily's jaw slackens and her mouth opens but she struggles to speak. She stares at Maggie until Maggie glances away, looks down, gazes at the floor with her hands clasped in her lap as the guilt bubbles to the surface, engulfs her expression and suffocates her soul. She suddenly feels trapped, in the kitchen of a place she's grown to call home. Maggie sits at the table, eyes glancing at everything but Emily. It no longer feels like the home she’s known.

'I-I didn't mean for it to happen' Maggie stammers, 'but it _did_ and... I feel terrible about it. _Beyond_ terrible about it'

Maggie glances down, eyes shifting uneasily as her lips tremble and she bites her lip. She's not a crier but her eyes glimmer with a hint of wetness, of emotion, as she watches the relationship she has destroyed fall away piece by piece.

Emily swallows, her anger stealing away her ability to speak. Maggie risks a look and watches as Emily begins to pace the floor of their apartment.

' _Who_ -' Emily blinks, 'with who?'

'It-' Maggie hears the clock ticking in the background as the room falls quieter than it’s ever been before and she momentarily loses her footing. 'It doesn't matter'

'It _does_ if I ever meant anything to you!'

Maggie glances away, debates on whether or not the truth would serve her any good. The conversation is already written in an invisible script she reads aloud in her head. She knows what they’ve had is over because Emily is angrier than she has ever been witness to before, her usual calm and softening eyes now replaced with ones of heartbreak and disbelief.

'Tell me, Maggie!'

Maggie's eyes shift.

'We- We met in a bar' she admits, her voice sounding cut-off, standalone in a room encased with hurt. She tries to make it sound like that makes it better, like it excuses her actions. Her voice is soft - _too_ soft - for a confession so damaging.

'We've been together for _five_ years!'

'I know' Maggie utters quietly, ashamed.

' _Five years_. I can't believe you would- that you... _When_ \- when did it happen?'

When Maggie doesn't respond, Emily snaps; ' _When_? Tell me, Maggie!'

'A month and a half ago'

_'A month and a half ago_?'

Maggie shakes her head, tells Emily she was _stupid_ \- so, _so_ , stupid - and utters _'I'm sorry'_ at an alarming rate she loses count of. The two words only make Emily stiffen as Maggie's eyes shift up to meet her girlfriend's gaze.

'You're not sorry' rings the countermeasure but Emily is wrong. Maggie _is_ sorry.

'I was here for you when we were both new to the city, when things were bad. I gave you all that time, all that effort, and for _what_? So you could sleep with some girl you picked up in a bar? Do I mean _anything_ to you?'

' _Emily_...'

Maggie's voice fades as Emily's eyes search for an answer she knows she's never going to get.

'You _slept_ with her, a _stranger_ , Maggie!'

'I know, I _know_ but-'

'I... I want you out of here by tomorrow’ Emily breathes, eyes gleaming with hurt and tears. ‘I'll stay at Lisa's tonight but I don't want you to be here when I get back’ She pauses, grabbing her keys from the kitchen counter. ‘You better _not_ be here when I get back'

Maggie only nods.

'I'm sorry' she chokes out, numb, her words running on automation at this point.

'No, you're _not_ , Maggie’ Emily says, gritting her teeth. ‘You're _not_ sorry’

‘I _am_ , Em’ Maggie tells her, eyes remaining on the floor. 'Please-'

‘I _sure_ hope she was worth it. I hope you're happy... Actually, you know what? You don't _deserve_ to be happy'

Maggie's gaze barely meets Emily.

'I _know_ I don’t' she admits, breathless.

' _Yeah_ , you _know_ ' Emily laughs, all fake. ‘You can’t even _look_ at me, Maggie, you can’t even _look_ at what you’ve done’

Maggie hears the apartment door slam before she realises what is happening; Emily disappearing from the room – and consequently, her _life_ – in a blink of an eye.

Maggie drinks as she packs, condenses five years’ worth of belongings and clothes into three hold-all bags and stands in the corner of the kitchen pondering how she ever got it so wrong.

She leaves the apartment early on Sunday morning when the sky is overcast and it’s somehow fitting for the conclusion to her longest relationship thus far. Maggie pulls out her phone and texts Emily when she’s leaving the top landing. She thinks there's nothing more cowardly than a goodbye text but a coward is exactly what Maggie is.

_I put the keys through the box, Em. I'm sorry. I'll always be sorry._

She spends the following two week interlude in a crappy motel situated across from National City Park before she settles on a one bedroom apartment on the outskirts of the city. The space is small and affordable and as she moves in and the days pass by, Maggie starts to feel like herself again. It isn’t quite normalcy nor is it home, it's too vacant for the title, but there's a glimmer of potential that shines bright in Maggie's eyes.

It's six months later when Maggie discovers through a mutual friend that Emily has traded up National City for someplace else. She doesn't pry, doesn't ask where, because that's a privilege she no longer holds. Emily isn’t in her life and for good reason, too, and Maggie is convinced that she’ll always feel guilty for _being_ that reason.

 

* * *

 

It takes a while for things to fall back into place.

Living alone again is different and Maggie tries to spruce up her apartment with the addition of greenery and distracts herself by joining a yoga class she convinces herself she will hate (which she doesn’t).

It's completely a growing process and yeah, her life had once again been reset but Maggie would rebuild it again the same way each time. This time around, she would be strive to be more level headed and the bricks would be stronger.

Work is a welcomed distraction and without the ties to a girlfriend, without Emily, Maggie's usual late nights become _later_ nights.

She's sitting at her desk with a folder, blazer jacket sleeves rolled up as her fingers skim across creased pages of paper in the dimly lit bullpen one Friday night. Everyone else has gone home, back to girlfriends and significant others like _normal_ people but Maggie isn’t bitter, she’s _dedicated_.

Maggie counts three suspects on the paper; one with previous and two with links to an alien drugs gang, sips a shot of black coffee as her eyes scan across the text, across the mugshots and various intel gathered by the department.

Crime never slept so why should she?


End file.
